Where the Healing Begins
by Kiaros
Summary: Ichigo disappears in Heuco Del Mundo while looking for Orihime. When she is found and he isn't, the search is on. When his friends find him, they realize the worst has happened. Ichigo has been located and rescued, yes, but will he ever be healed? Non-con sex references. Set just before the end of the Hueco del Mundo story arc. Mature content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** **This fic contains references to non-con sex and violent situations. Please do not read if you are under the legal age for such things in your country (18 years in USA).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, & this is not written for profit.**

A big "Thank you" goes to WhereSilenceBegins and Spunky0ne - they are the authors of the masterfully woven tales that inspired me.

* * *

><p><em><em><em>Carrot orange hair was matted with dirt and blood to the point that it appeared to be a muddy brown color at first glance. The youth did not seem to notice his appearance. He lay slumped in a dingy corner of the cell, just one of the many victims they had located that day. At this point, his rescuers were not sure whether or not it was a good thing that he was the last of the victims; he was also in the worst shape. <em>There was a distinctly dull look to his a_mber eyes when he turned the haggard face toward the newcomers. It was as though he was not looking _at_ the people entering his cell, but rather _through_ them. From a young man who was always, _always,_ extremely vivacious, it was utterly disturbing._

_They would have released him the moment they saw him, but halted their rush at a quiet, subtle signal from Captain Kuchiki. After a different, but equally subtle, signal from the Captain, the rescue party regrouped outside the cell._

_"Do not touch him." The Captain's quiet command shocked the party, and for just a moment there was silence. __Then the arguments burst forth all at once, each person cutting the other off until only an unintelligible babble remained._

_"How can you-!"_

_"Of course we must-!"_

_"He's saved our asses, why not-!"_

_"What do you mean-!"_

_"How can we not-!"_

_Again, Byakuya motioned, and silence fell. "If any of you could sense reiatsu patterns beyond your own, you would not argue in this moment. That young man has undergone tortures that it is unlikely that_ any of us_ has ever undergone, or ever _will _undergo. We cannot _possibly _help him to understand that we are not his tormentors - when we unleash his powers, he will likely turn and use them on _us _in his desperation for all of this to end. Combined, we are hardly powerful enough to contain his full strength. We are even less equipped to __help him to come to grips__ with what has happened and begin to heal." He glanced sternly at the motley assembly of rescuers that shuffled angrily from foot to foot around him, noting two exceptions from people he had forgotten may be resources in this matter. "So, no. Do not touch him yet."_

_Renji's heated brown eyes and Rukia's black ones glared into his defiantly as the redhead took a deep breath. "In the Rukongai we have dealt with such situations countless times. Not understand? Bullshit. I know _exactly_ what he's going through. None of us here will be able to help him heal, but between the lot of us we may be able to move him without damaging him further or exposing ourselves to danger." Rukia nodded her silent affirmation of Renji's statement, and the look of steadfast determination in both pairs of eyes settled it for Byakuya._

_"Very well. What did you have in mind?"_

_After the two had explained, the Captain nodded his assent. The plan would suffice for moving the shinigami, even if it would do little to nothing to help him heal in the long run._

_Carefully, so slowly that they inched into the chamber, Rukia and Renji approached the substitute shinigami. As expected, he still flinched and lashed out the moment Renji's hand passed the edge of a boundary visible only to Ichigo._ _The two survivors of the Rukongai glanced at each other, nodded once, and then clapped their hands together, forming a kido shield between the orange-haired shinigami and themselves._

_Ichigo relaxed such a minute amount that only the two next to him could tell._

_Rukia extended a hand toward, but not a hair beyond, the shield and called softly to her friend, "Ichigo? Ichi? They are dead. They cannot ever hurt you again. Ichi, can you come back to us?"_

_The amber eyes widened impossibly and the whites turned black. Dry lips that cracked and oozed sluggish red fluid parted in an insane parody of a smile. A wispy voice answered, "The King ain't here right now - leave a message and maybe I'll tell him someday!" A crazy cackle echoed through the small cell just before the restraints on the redhead's power flexed and unguided reiatsu slammed into the shield, causing it to shudder and tremble with the force of the attack._

_Byakuya, watching, sighed softly in regret as he and the others of the rescue party collectively used their reiatsu to force the substitute shinigami's still-restricted powers into submission. Then the Kuchiki clan leader flash stepped forward and slipped a hand into the barrier too quickly for the thing possessing Ichigo to respond. A quick kido spell caused the young man to slump backwards in a boneless heap, the crazed eyes closing and the smile transforming into the barest trace of a grimace._

_Obviously, none of the shinigami from Soul Society could help the young man at this point. Now, the best thing they could do was to transport the carrot-head to Karakura Town at top speed. They could only hope that the unusual former captain would be able to provide more in the way of healing than any of those in the rescue party had to offer._

...

He blearily blinked his way into wakefulness. It seemed to be a weekend afternoon like any other, him still lying abed and half-dozing before his noisy idiot dad came crashing through the doorway. He paused, listening, waiting to hear the telltale thuds of his dad's footsteps.

There were none.

That, in and of itself, was odd. Steeling himself, he peered around the room through half-lidded eyes, but only calming, yellow-colored walls and gently flapping white curtains greeted him. That was odd as well. He thought back to the last thing he could remember, which was lying down to sleep before going on a mission to Hueco Mundo. Strangely, though, the time between that moment and this one was an achingly blank canvas that nearly blinded him with pain when he tried to probe for memories from the time lapse.

It made little to no sense, and so he pushed further, willing himself to push through the pain, to no avail. When he moved, though, he felt the pull of newly-healed muscles and felt a flash of mind-numbing terror when he found his feet tangled in the sheets. That made no sense, either.

For one more moment, everything was still fine - aside from him not knowing precisely where he was - and then he remembered. And his world came crashing in on him.

...

Urahara Kisuke was making his way towards the room he had provided for the substitute shinigami with a tray of breakfast when he felt the subtle tremors of the sleeper's reiatsu begin to stir and then start awake. He half-smiled as he felt the primarily normal, if slightly stiff, patterns of the reiatsu. It seemed that Ichigo was handling the trauma with extraordinary poise.

When the patterns flashed with pain and agitation before completely freezing was the moment he realized how wrong he was about how Ichigo was handling the trauma. What he had sensed was the initial stage of shock.

Now he was feeling the youth's devastation through the flare and then sudden absence of reiatsu from the guest room.

Inwardly, he heaved a quiet sigh as he moved toward the door. At least the young man was not lashing out with spirit energy, as he so easily could have. Kisuke could deal with such things, of course, but it could have left the merchandise downstairs in shambles.

After pausing a moment to read more of the details of the orange-head's condition in what little reiatsu he could detect, he sighed again and turned back toward the kitchen. Ichigo needed a moment to reorient himself once more - to re-convince himself that he was in the _after_ not in the _during - a_nd Kisuke needed a moment to prepare a less substantial meal than he had intended to feed the young man.

He was not certain about the exact details of what Ichigo had been forced to submit to, but it did not matter. Based on the reiatsu reading, Ichigo was not likely going to be anything resembling his "normal self" for a long time. Which might include food, boundaries, and any number of seemingly incongruous details often taken for granted. Well, they would just have to take things one step at a time. Quickly, for he did not want to mistakenly leave Ichigo isolated in a new place for too long, he slung together a secondary option for breakfast and took both back toward the guest room.

He set the tray on a convenient hall table near the door and gently rapped on the portal. He received no response. Slowly, and more noisily than usual, he edged the door open and poked his head around to peer at the orange-headed young man sitting on the bed.

It was no better than he had expected, and possibly worse.

Ichigo was pressed against the headboard of the bed with the sheets a tangled mess at the far end. Hair that used to be healthy and bright orange seemed lackluster and hung limply about his face, having grown a couple of inches during his ordeal. His normally bright golden eyes were maelstroms of devastation, anger, anguish, and other emotions that flickered and died too quickly for identification. He had drawn his knees to his chest and clutched them to him as though the world might end if he let go.

From his perspective, the world he knew might have ended already.

When Kisuke rapped again before stepping through the doorway into the room, Ichigo's eyes snapped to focus on him. As the older man took a tentative step toward him, the substitute shinigami broke into a litany of "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..." which continued, rising in pitch when he took another step. After a third step into the room, the young man shouted, "NO!" and released his knees in favor of trying to scramble backwards.

Kisuke stopped. "Ichigo?" He queried, "Ichigo, it's me, Urahara. You remember me? Ichigo, can you hear me?" The younger man continued his attempts to back into a solid wall. "Ichi!" he shouted, not knowing if he was helping or hurting the traumatized youth.

The frenzied scramble paused. A glint of recognition flashed in the brazen eyes.

"...Urahara-san...?" The normally brash and bold voice sounded as though the young man's vocal chords had been scraped raw.

"Yes." Inwardly, Kisuke sighed in relief and winced at the same time. At least he wasn't being attacked or actively feared at the moment, but that voice spoke tomes about the treatment of its owner. "Ichigo -"

"Why?" The question was quiet, but it effectively sliced through the quiet of the room. Then he screamed "Why!" and the golden eyes snapped with sudden and unseeing fury. Whips of pure reiatsu began to flare and lash into being beginning at the crumpled youth and lashing outwards in a fiery display of anger.

Kisuke responded by triggering the kido shield he had prepared in advance. He knew that Ichigo needed the release, but at the same time he wanted to protect the majority of the room, the rest of the house and the shop from utter destruction. Tongues of uncontrolled energy licked hungrily at the shield, glancing off along it and making the sphere of protection look like a large-scale plasma ball.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

><p>AN: This is a WiP.<br>Also: Sorry Ichi! Blame the evil plot bunnies. :(


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: WiP, mentions of non-con sex.  
>Disclaimer: I do not write for profit &amp; do not own Bleach. <strong>I have no control over your mousekeyboard.****

* * *

><p>The roiling reiatsu flares continued to whirl throughout the sphere of protection. Feathers from the pillows flew through the air, burning to ash when they came into contact with the raw energy, and the mattress and bedspread alike looked as though hundreds of cigarette burns had been inflicted on the unfortunate material. Ichigo's eyes were wide and unseeing while his mouth hung open in a soundless scream.<p>

Suddenly, the fierce energy stopped thrashing, the chapped lips snapped shut, the amber eyes closed, and the orange head sagged forward on defeated shoulders.

Kisuke then placed a careful kido shield along his body - in case he was mistaken in his timing - and cautiously took a minute step forward.

Nothing happened.

He took another, slightly larger step forward, but there was still no reaction from the slouched youth. After another step, he was within touching range of the bed and needed to open a small gap in the spherical shield he had previously erected.

Still nothing.

"Kurosaki?" he asked, the memory of the plasma ball fresh in his mind, "Kurosaki, are you with me now?"

Although the bare shoulder flinched as he slowly extended a hand forward, there was no other movement and no other sound.

"Kurosaki, you need to eat now." Silently the carrot-top gave a tiny nod. Kisuke let his hand fall. "I will go get the food, then, okay? I'm coming back, though, alright?" Again, a small nod was the only response. Not an encouraging sign. Kisuke retrieved the food tray from the hall.

When he returned, it was with slow steps and carefully restrained movements. All seemed to be, if not well, at least better than it had been minutes before. That is, until Ichigo saw the tray the food was on. When he spotted the tray, his head snapped up and he resumed his attempt to backpedal into the headboard.

When the redhead began panicking Kisuke froze, wondering what he had done. Then he noticed the intense focus on the tray and tried covering the front of it with his arms. The frenzied look did not leave Ichigo's eyes, but he did stop trying to claw through the headboard.

When Kisuke placed the tray of food on the floor to keep the tray from sight, though, the youth literally flung himself out of bed and across the room, landing in the farthest corner from the tray. His eyes darted around until he spotted the closet.

Then he dove inside with no hesitation.

Kisuke raised an eyebrow at the wordless reaction, but managed to keep from saying anything. It was strange, but then again, it was still better than a lightning sphere. Instead, he quietly placed the bowl of broth and two of the bread slices on the coverlet, moved the tray silently out into the hallway and softly called to Ichigo once again.

It took time, but finally the substitute shinigami could be coaxed out of hiding and cajoled into trying to down some food.

Before Captain Unohana had used the healing capabilities of her zanpakutou on the tortured young men and women rescued from the center in Hueco Mundo, all of them had been emaciated. As it was, Ichigo's body was still much too thin for peace of mind. It was a telling sign of the lad's original condition if even Unohana's formidable abilities left him thin in the extreme and too used to hunger to eat even a single slice of bread soaked in broth before trying to stealthily stash the other slice behind his pillow for later. Kisuke did not say anything about this, but rather moved to the doorway, took the plate of bread slices off of the tray and set the entire thing on the small end table that held the lamp.

Ichigo flinched with every step that carried the older man closer to the bed but did not flee when the plate of bread was placed on the table. Instead, the hand trying to surreptitiously stash bread under the covers snuck back out and set the uneaten slice on the plate while amber eyes flickered to the older man's face and then back to the bedspread multiple times.

Kisuke simply did his best to keep his face from showing the variety of emotions that flared with each of Ichigo's reactions. He felt as though he were on an emotional roller coaster ride, since his mood was almost constantly shifting from concern for Ichigo's well-being to outrage at the fate of the young man, from worrying about how his next action would come across to the volatile red head to murderous rage that Ichigo and the other victims had been left in that forsaken place long enough for strange reactions to become ingrained into everyday behaviors.

For example, the Ichigo he had known before would never have tried to hide food for later; food was wolfed down or ignored. Also, the person he had known was bold and confident in everything he did. This Ichigo, though, was cautious about every nearby movement and about every item that was brought into his presence. Even the broth and bread, when Ichigo finally made the decision to try them, had been thoroughly inspected as stealthily as was possible with someone as keen-eyed as Kisuke observing every muscle twitch in anticipation of the next seemingly unwarranted reaction.

After the first day, the only firm conclusion Kisuke had reached was that trays apparently terrified the younger male, and that the potential to be touched scared him nearly as much. Neither reaction was warranted or expected in someone who had previously been a very spirited and fearless person. It did not help matters that the sclera in each of the amber eyes regularly flickered back and forth between black and white. It was as though Ichigo was in a constant fight with his inner hollow and was only barely keeping the upper hand.

He had no idea if he could provide whatever it would take to heal the substitute shinigami of the obvious emotional wounds he had suffered, but Kisuke knew that he needed to either try or risk the redhead losing the shard of sanity that he sometimes glimpsed in the back of the haunted eyes. Only time would tell if he could manage to help the carrot-head or not.

...

At first, more than anything else, he felt numb. It didn't matter that Urahara deliberately learned, and then cooked, his favorite foods, or that the shopkeeper was careful to make noise on the rare occasion that he approached Ichigo. It didn't matter that the older man made a point of giving him space without making him feel abandoned. Nothing would be the same. His inner world had been shattered with the first taking of his body - now he was not so sure that there was a substance in the universe that could help him to reassemble it, and keeping the last shred of pride he possessed meant that he certainly could not simply ask for help. Even if that was exactly what all of his friends would have wanted him to do. For the majority of the time, though, he managed to shove his feelings to the back of his mind in order to save what little dignity he may have had left.

That did not mean he had given up by any means, however. He tried to contact Zangetsu, but the attempts were to no avail. For some reason, he had lost the ability to hear his zanpakutou along with the loss of his inner world, and Zangetsu had been taken from him before he awakened in the center in Hueco Mundo. Unfortunately, he knew that his inner hollow was thriving in spite of his other losses. Every time he suffered even a minor flashback, he could feel the hollow vying for control of his body.

As time continued to pass, each day became a new trial to see if he would become a hollow or remain a substitute shinigami. It was a silent struggle for power, as was the battle he fought against his own anger and fear. After the initial remembrance, he could consistently remember only shreds and tatters of the events that had occurred during the mission, but each of those pieces was enough to reduce him to a shivering, shuddering mess for a period of time that ranged from mere moments to nearly three hours. Since he had arrived he spoke only when he had to and tried to simply stay out of sight and hopefully out of mind. He felt pathetic in his current state, and could only imagine how pathetic he looked. And sounded. The few times that he did speak, a small croaking sound was the only reward for his efforts. His voice was nearly gone, courtesy of what was apparently just over two months of treatment unfit for even a cockroach.

Not that he would have remembered the actual amount of time, what with endless night time showing outside the containment cells and the perpetual nightmare within them.

It was a wonder that Urahara even put up with him - the older man apparently had a wider streak of patience and compassion than he had thought, given his assortment of experiences with the other shinigami.

He hated the way he flinched every time someone entered the room. The worst incident was caused by Jinta bursting in one evening to tell him dinner was ready. The kid just couldn't seem to knock - which wouldn't have been a problem if Ichigo had not been sleeping, albeit badly, when the door crashed open. He had learned to contain the instinct to bolt or attack when someone came into his room, most of the time, when he was awake and aware of their intent to enter. The moment he was jolted from sleep was enough to knock him into reliving one of the worst parts of his imprisonment. That experience was how he found out that his inner hollow was moving closer to the surface. It had taken over while he was incapacitated by the memories.

His body had to be forcefully knocked unconscious as it had been when he was first rescued, which was much more difficult when the hollow had control of a functional body with which to dodge the kido.

Jinta, for his troubles, was apparently rewarded with extra chores for a month along with a stern lecture regarding the situation. Urahara, Tessai, and Ururu were each covered in colorful bruises and a burn or two apiece when he regained consciousness the next day. Yoruichi did not comment on the state of her housemates when she returned from Head Captain Yamamoto's summons to Seireitei. Instead she placed the pieces of Zangetsu on Ichigo's bedside table and left him alone to reconnect to the blade.

Which he could not do. After countless failed attempts to access his inner world, he could not even bring himself to touch the broken blade. He carefully covered the pieces with a blood-red cloth and proceeded to ignore the table entirely.

He could tell that the other members of the household were becoming increasingly worried, but he could do nothing to comfort them. He was barely holding himself together, and he could very well lose his fight against himself at any moment. If the time came that he was a danger to his friends, he could only hope that someone would have the mercy to kill him quickly. If they even _could_ kill his hollow form quickly at this point - his hollow had become stronger at the same rate as he had while he had been achieving his bankai.

Time alone would tell if he could manage to pull the pieces of his life back together into some semblance of order. In the meantime, he was simply trying to survive.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Reviews are both encouraging and helpful - if you have a moment, I'd love to know what you think of this so far. <em>Ginormous "Thanks" to reviewers metsfan101, Yaoibleacher740, and Riian-sama for their reviews of the last chapter. <em>_

_P.S.: writtenkitten(dot)net gives you a really cute kitty picture as encouragement to write for every 100 words written. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for the rave reviews & my apologies for the long delay. Thank you as well to my lovely beta, Riian-sama. :)

**Warning: Non-con sex references**

**Disclaimer: I write for my own (& readers') pleasure. Read (or not) as you will.**

* * *

><p>He knew the carrot-top's sanity was not beginning to heal. It was more accurate to describe it as continuously degenerating. To the point that the young man was becoming a danger not only to himself but to everyone within Karakura Town.<p>

Clearly, Ichigo thought that he was able to suppress his skittishness around other people, but the truth was that the kid could hardly stay in a chair when someone knocked on or opened the door to his guest room. And his conflict with his inner hollow was beginning to show. Sure, Ichigo had managed to subdue the hollow quickly each time it took over, but he seemed to be unaware that he had ever lost control. It was pure luck that the person standing in the kitchen the first time he lost control had been Yoruichi - the kids were good at dodging, but the hollow was still wickedly fast with thrown blades.

Ichigo hadn't even noticed the fresh patch of paint caulking over the place where the butcher knife had sunk into the wall. Or the scratch on Yoruichi's cheek.

Then the incident with Jinta had happened. Jinta had gone upstairs, a loud *BANG* had sounded, and then the boy was bolting back down the stairs as though the hounds of Hell itself were biting at his heels. Which turned out to be not too far from the actual situation when Ichigo's body, hollow well in control, flashed along just behind the child. It had taken the combined distractions of Ururu and Jinta, three well-placed kido spells from Tessai and Kisuke each as well as a load of luck to force the youth into sleep. After that, it was obvious that the situation could not continue the way that it had been, but none of them could find the words to tell Ichigo to hurry up and get his hollow under firm control.

At the time that the incident with Jinta had happened, Yoruichi had been away in Seireitei. She had left the moment the summons from Captain Yamamoto had arrived, pausing just long enough to look at Kisuke and say, "Zangetsu has been found" before she was flash stepping away. She had returned after a only a few hours, bearing a reinforced bag that held the shattered pieces of the substitute shinigami's zanpakutou.

Kisuke was of a mind that the solution could lie in convincing the substitute shinigami to allow at least one other person into his life. He was at a loss for words, however, when it came to actually proposing his solution to the youth.

He had frowned in confusion when he first spotted the cloth-covered night stand. Based on the patterns of various hillocks beneath the scarlet fabric, the miniature table held the pieces of Ichigo's zanpakutou, but the fabric gradually accumulated a thin layer of dust as the days passed and the cloth lay undisturbed. It had been his hope that the redhead would be able to reconnect with the blade in order to kick-start the process of healing. Reconnecting to the blade was apparently not in the younger man's plans, though, and he had no idea how to broach the topic. In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands by, of all people, Uryuu Ishida.

After nearly an entire month, Ichigo had continued to refuse any and all visitors beyond the immediate residents of the house. Even Kisuke, Tessai, Jinta, Ururu and Yoruichi were only given a grudging permission to be in the same general area as him. Touches were certainly out of the question, though, since they terrified the carrot-top out of a rational state of mind, and after the second incident in which his inner hollow had flashed into control, no one tried to push that particular boundary again.

Thankfully, Ichigo's group of friends and family was easily as resilient and stubborn as the redhead. So although attempts of Ichigo's friends and father to visit were by no means unusual, it just so happened that that particular day was different. On that day, the Quincy forced his way into the substitute shinigami's doorway. That day, it was the black-haired man who refused to be convinced, holding his ground despite the numerous curses and angry outbursts that greeted his presence. Kisuke had forgotten that the young man had once lost his powers then worked to regain them while simultaneously expanding the ferocity of his attacks; that is, Kisuke had forgotten until the moment he glimpsed the unmistakably stubborn glint in Ishida's eyes.

After Ichigo finally, reluctantly, allowed the Quincy to enter the same room, Ishida had held his silence for a long time. When he did break the silence, it was with quiet but earnest words. In fact, the ebony-haired man had spoken so quietly that Kisuke still was not sure what was said despite the use of his best eavesdropping abilities. Ichigo did not respond to the soft speech and remained silently introspective well after the other young man had left.

A few days after Ishida's visit, Kisuke had nearly jumped out of his skin when a harsh rasp behind him quietly prompted, "Urahara?" He turned to meet the dulled amber eyes.

"I- " the younger man swallowed and then opened his mouth again, obviously trying to force out the words that he could not say. Finally, a quick flicker of a glance down to the red bundle in his hands and then back up to Kisuke's face told the shinigami what Ichigo needed but could not say.

Kisuke only barely managed to keep a relieved sigh from escaping. That the substitute shinigami was willing to finally put forth the effort to reconnect to his blade, and therefore his inner world, was a very promising sign indeed. He could only hope that he would be able to help the younger man to rebuild his crumbled confidence and come back to some semblance of the 'self' he had been before the brutalization in Hueco del Mundo. Needless to say, Kisuke said "Yes" before leading the way towards the training cavern below the shop.

Little did he know how much time and effort he was letting himself in for by agreeing to help the carrot-top.

Ichigo was clearly reluctant to follow Kisuke anywhere. By the time that Kisuke had reached the entrance, he could see visible tremors racking the substitute shinigami's too-thin frame. It was even more obvious that it was fear of being at the mercy of Kisuke's training that was causing the tremors when Ichigo skittered away from his proffered helping hand and darted past the older man to scramble down the ladder as quickly as possible. Certainly, the fear of touch was only one of a myriad of problems to be remedied, but the shop owner was determined to face each one squarely while coaxing Ichigo past them one shaky, unsure step at a time.

Once the two were down the ladder and into the training cavern, Kisuke looked at the haunted younger male. "Heart or head, Ichigo?" he asked softly, settling easily into a cross-legged seat, "Which to deal with first?" It was a good thing that he intended it as a rhetorical question, though, since Ichigo stared at him blankly before taking a seat nearly ten feet away. Granted that seat directly faced Kisuke's place on the ground, but the choice only served to solidify the nebulous idea forming in the blond's head.

He met the scared amber eyes and nodded gently before slowly lifting his arm and holding out his open hand, palm up.

"Wha-" Ichigo cut himself off, then shakily continued, his voice sounding as though his vocal chords had been dragged through gravel for several miles before being reinserted into this shell of a man, "What do you want?"

"Your trust. I will stay here as long as it takes. You need to know that you have nothing to fear from me. I am a just a simple shop-keeper, nothing more." He smiled as he rested the back of his open hand on his knee and settled in to wait.

...

The man must be stark, raving, mad. That was the only reasonable explanation for the statement and the hand held out in silent offering. "Why?" he murmered, still feeling the grate and scrape of his raw voice. Just the sound of it caused the hairs on his neck and arms to rise as memories of how he came to sound that way threatened to overwhelm him yet again. For the first time, it was the sheer force of his curiosity that allowed him to force the cobwebs of memory away from his waking mind. That was probably just as well, though, considering that it was becoming more and more difficult to strongarm his inner hollow into accepting his control.

Each fight with his hollow in the back of his mind was becoming more challenging. Part of the new level of difficulty was the fact that he was no longer submerged in his inner world when he fought the creature. Instead, it was as though only a part of his mind dealt with the hollow, while the rest of him focused on the outside world. The other part of the problem was the lack of Zangetsu's presence. Barehanded fighting did not suit either of them very well, and the shards of his soul that were similar to Zangestu, which had manifested during bankai training, were too brittle for either of them to use effectively. Somehow Ichigo was managing to fight back with the help of what he considered to be dirty tricks - kicking dust into the hollow's face, throwing the broken blade pieces like shuriken stars - and by simply indulging his stubborn personality.

He was beginning to notice a disturbing pattern of minor memory lapses, though, that were quite similar to the one he had from the fight with Captain Kuchiki back when he'd been in soul society.

With a wrench, he dragged the majority of his attention back to the present, allowing the battle with his hollow to continue in a small corner of his mind. Unfortunately, despite his naturally stubborn demeanor, he could not bring himself to move so much as an inch closer to his mentor and friend. The thought of touching anyone intentionally had fled long ago. He knew that Urahara would not object to a touch after such an offer, but he could not imagine forcing even the slightest touch on someone else. And that was assuming he could get over his own terror at the idea of being caught and trapped by someone else once again. With his powers and sword useless, he was incapable of raising a finger to defend himself at the moment.

Being so helpless practically lit each of his nerves on fire.

He knew what needed to happen - it was the reason he had asked for help in the first place, since he could not seem to bring himself to willingly reach for contact with another person - but it seemed as though it would be much harder than he had thought to take this first step.

As they sat staring at one another, a strange grating sound, not unlike that of swords braced against one another in battle, began to permeate the stillness of the cavern. It started softly, but it gradually increased in crescendo until it sounded as if at least six battles were being held separately near the two seated shinigami. When he finally realized what was the cause of the hubbub, he blushed slightly in shame. He was shaking so hard that the pieces of his zanpakuto were clattering against each other in the scarlet wrappings with which he had covered them.

He huffed softly at the force of his own cowardice - never in the time _Before _had he shaken at the thought of the brief touch of his friend's hand - and gently placed the blood-colored fabric and the blades it contained on the ground to his right.

With slow and painstaking, emotionally laborious movements, he forced himself to rise. After all, he could not delay forever, and the moment had already been several months in coming. Although he could not make himself meet the other man's gaze, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a flicker of a smile twitch at the corners of the full mouth. Yet despite the sign of recognition for his efforts, the older shinigami did not so much as twitch any other part of his relaxed pose.

He wasn't sure how much time it actually took him to cross the distance, but it felt far too fast. Surely, based on the occasional growl of their stomachs, it must have been hours, but the lighting in the cavern did not change. All too soon, though, he found himself casting a shadow on Urahara's cross-legged seat on the ground.

Urahara simply sat still, waiting patiently for Ichigo's decision. Waiting for the beginning sign of trust that could spark his recovery into warp speed.

It felt as though it was the most difficult thing he had ever done to touch his fingertips to the tips of Urahara's upturned digits.


	4. Chapter 4

It was one of the most difficult things Ichigo had ever done. Remaining with the tips of his fingers barely brushing against the tips of Urahara's fingers required an effort of will that left him literally trembling like a leaf in the wind. His nerves were raw and his hearing was hyper-sensitive. Even the smallest shift of his sandals on the dirt beneath him made him flinch and shake anew.

Urahara, true to his word, remained infinitely patient and benevolent as Ichigo's fingertips stuttered in and out of contact with his fingers. Even more importantly, in some ways, he stayed still and allowed Ichigo to set the pace. That minuscule concession to respect the new boundaries created by trauma was the tipping point.

After some time had passed, his fingers ceased their movements and steadied, even as he slowly inched his hand forward until his palm rested squarely across Urahara's palm and his fingers lightly encircled the other man's wrist.

And still, Urahara remained motionless. Although the other man's eyes watched him with great clarity, Urahara said nothing. So Ichigo found the strength to croak, "Now what?"

"You tell me, Kurosaki."

He blinked. Obviously something needed to change, but what? What concessions needed to be made and what boundaries could remain? His mouth clamped shut and his fingers resumed their shaking. How could he possibly tell one of his first mentors that he could not even do such a simple thing as locate his inner world? He did not know how long he stood like that, too afraid to say anything and yet too worried to say nothing.

"Ichigo."

Even spoken quietly, Urahara's use of his first name immediately broke his reverie. His gaze refocused on the eyes that glowed under the brim of the striped hat.

"How far and how fast we go is up to you. Just remember that there is no judgment here. The past does not matter in this moment, but what the future holds in store for either one of us depends on the now."

The words were like a fragment of his sanity coming back to roost in the nearly empty cavern of his soul. As Urahara said the words, they seemed like the kind of advice you gave to a toddler afraid of the dark, and yet they were so much more. Such a simple thought; the future depending on the now. How had he forgotten? His fingers steadied once again. "Truly?" His query was hardly a whisper, and his voice sounded as though he had been eating a steady diet of broken glass for months. Not that he really wanted to delve into those particulars at the moment.

"Yes."

That single syllable was like a secret password allowing him to move a little beyond his mental barriers. Very slowly and gently, he gripped Urahara's wrist before withdrawing his touch and slowly backing away to gather the sad puddle of crimson from the ground near his original seat. Allowing his eyes to dart around the room, he moved back towards Urahara, small clanking sounds accompanying each step as the blade shards struck each other. Yet he still hesitated when he was once again within touching distance. Would Urahara laugh, scold, or be somber when he explained the missing connection? Or would Urahara react in some other way? He hoped the older man would not pity him. He would rather be ridiculed than pitied.

He gently laid the cloth bundle of blade pieces on the ground in front of Urahara and forced himself to sit just behind it. He was still well within the other man's ability to reach, but just far enough away that any movement to lean forward and touch him would be obvious and seen well in advance. Urahara, of course, continued to sit quietly and wait for him to make the first move. He felt weak and ridiculous that the concessions being made for him were necessary. He loathed himself a bit more every time he trembled around others, especially the people who he had once fought alongside.

Sighing internally and doing his best to still his shaking hands, he reached forward and untied the bundle of blade pieces. He gently unfolded the fabric and let it flutter to the ground.

The pile of shards looked even more lackluster than it had the last time he'd looked at it, and radiated an aura of despair that was nearly palpable. The normal black metal had acquired a filmy greenish gray tint, and each edge seemed to be blunt rather than sharp. His conviction to get help with the blade was reaffirmed as he looked at the sad heap of metal.

He was sick and tired of being scared all the time. He would follow this first step back to normality through to the end, even if he had to hang on to his sanity by a mere thread to do so. If for no other reason, at least he would feel slightly less helpless once he had Zangetsu firmly in hand once again.

…

It had felt as though a knife had been stabbed into his heart as he watched the carrot-top engage in a mental battle to stay in barest contact with his skin. Fingers that were closer to a skeleton than to either human or shinigami all but rattled against his skin. What the hell happened to the Ichigo he had known?

Even the effect of even his seemingly obvious statements were much greater than they should have been. With his quiet words, Ichigo's features had visibly relaxed a little. The ever-present furrow between the orange brows smoothed and the shaking had noticeably decreased.

The depressed and shattered blade in front of him, though, he was not sure how to handle. He knew that only severe trauma could break a zanpakutou in the first place, and only the worst of traumas or severe neglect could dull the edge of a zanpakutou. In all the time he had spent studying and handling the blades, however, he had never seen one lose its color. Change color, certainly - especially if the form of the blade changed as well, during ban kai for example, but never like this.

It almost looked like a thin layer of gray pond scum had built up on the blade sides, but leaning in for a closer look showed that the discoloration was actually inside the blade itself. As if part of Ichigo's soul being broken wasn't bad enough, something was wrong with the pieces.

"May I?" he asked, looking up from the blade shards to meet Ichigo's gaze. After a tiny nod of the carrot-top's head, he slowly reached forward and touched the closest piece.

An sickening jolt coursed through his reiatsu when his fingers brushed the metal, and he mentally swore as he was forced to immediately turn to the side or spew vomit on Ichigo. His stomach clenched as his reiatsu reeled in a way that left him retching until there was nothing left to bring up. Then, calming his reiatsu by force of will and doing his best to compose himself physically, he pulled a kerchief from inside his sleeve to wipe his face as he turned his head to look at Ichigo - who was once again several feet away.

The redhead had curled into a miserable-looking ball with his knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried in his arms. Slowly, still feeling wobbly from dry heaves, Kisuke gathered the edges of the abandoned red cloth and the blade pieces it held. He kicked dirt over the disgusting puddle he had created. Then, careful to leave the same distance between his feet and Ichigo's body as there had been when he collected himself, he moved in an arc around Ichigo a quarter of the way around the invisible circle.

"Ichigo? Ichi?" he called out softly to the curled figure. At the sound of his voice, the younger man hunched further into himself. "It's not your fault, Ichigo. It isn't. None of this has been. I'm sorry if I scared you - I should have known better than to touch it without testing it with some of my machines first. I have things in the shop that might have helped. Ichigo? Please. Give me another chance?" After saying what he needed to, he quietly settled into his cross-legged position in the dust.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Where did two YEARS go? I'm sorry.<em>


End file.
